


One of These Days

by orphan_account



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-09
Updated: 2009-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon doesn't miss frantic sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of These Days

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from the musical _Chess_.

_One of these days, and it won’t be long  
[…]  
All my dreams will be understood  
No surprise, nothing more to learn from the look in my eyes_

_   
__ _

____Simon doesn’t miss frantic sex. He considers this as he watches Mal’s face, aglow in the refrigerator light, etched with concentration. 

“What’d you do today?” Mal asks distractedly, eyes still trained on the empty shelves, cocking his head as if changing the angle is going to render the offerings less sparse.

“Thirteen-year-old versus combine.”

Mal’s quiet a minute but Simon can feel his wince without looking.

“Good thing he had you.”

Simon half-smiles tiredly but says nothing.

“Still this thing in here from last night. Not that hungry, though. You?”

“No, I didn’t eat ‘til four, what with all the re-attaching of limbs . . .”

“Right. You wanna . . .?” 

* * *

When they get to the bedroom and shed their clothes, they’re nearly indistinguishable, except that Simon’s go on the chair and Mal’s go on the floor; and even after all this time, Simon still can’t bring himself to wear boots.

Mal pulls the blankets all the way down to the foot of the bed and they each take the side of the bed they normally sleep on, Mal closer to the door, Simon closer to the fan. The sheets are cool against their sides and they pull each other close, kissing in shorthand, Mal’s tanned arms wrapping around Simon’s lighter form. Mal’s mouth on his neck - then his nipple - is more of a placeholder than foreplay, but Simon’s body responds anyway—obedient, expectant.

Simon doesn’t miss the way things used to be. Not even when he thinks of a tray in the infirmary clattering to the floor, his skin whitening under Mal’s grip, a knee-trembler on the bridge because their bunks seemed impossibly far. Vest buttons flew once, but Simon’s always suspected that had more to do with Mal trying to convince them both he was still passably young.

Simon suspects, however, that Mal misses it sometimes. So he tries to shift his body, to set them going on a different course. But Mal is oblivious—eyes closed, too far gone, too caught up his own pleasure. Simon, not wanting to break the mood, lets him carry on.

Mal’s done and catching his breath, and the only sound is the hum of the fan. The anxieties of the day start to reemerge, turning over in Simon’s stomach and crawling up and down his spine. It’d bad enough that he starts to beg off when Mal tries to reciprocate, but of course Mal doesn’t listen to him, and of course he’s glad. Mal knows him by heart and he’s diligent besides, so before long the worry is no match for Mal wanting to please him, to make him feel good enough that his hips rock, his stomach tightens, his shoulders rise off the bed and he cries out as the pleasure washes over him.

It’s too hot for much touching afterwards, but Mal curls his body close to Simon’s, placing a hand on his and a kiss on his shoulder as their eyes begin to close.

Simon doesn’t miss frantic sex. Or at least, he wouldn’t trade it. Not for this—not for knowing exactly where he stands, for near-perfect fluency in one another’s Morse code of long and short silences, for something solid and comfortable and lived-in.


End file.
